things with wings

cow parsley after seeding. Silhouetted against blue sky

There was a beautiful blue sky earlier today, the kind that makes you wish you could just reach up and take flight, to soar with the white-winged gulls.

I’ve said before that I’m no good at taking pictures of birds, but I did manage to take pictures of some other things with wings in the wild park near where I live.

First, there were these pale green winged creatures, clustered together, clearly not yet ready to leave the nest.

pale green winged seeds

Elsewhere, I found some of the same species, a little further developed; perhaps if it had been windier they would have been ready to fly.

Pink winged seeds.

These winged offspring of another species seemed even more mature; look how they have spread their wings to dry in the sunshine ready for their brief autumnal mating flight.

sycamore wings with the sun shining through them

Finally, I’m sure this little one had wings and, for a moment, I thought she was about to use them, but although I watched her for a while, she continued her explorations on foot.

ladybird beginning to  open its wings

Although it’s a bit early in the year for the windwolf, the poem seems appropriate; it’s from my collection Around the Corner from Hope Street:

Windwolf

Lonely, the windwolf howls, and prowls
the city Sunday afternoon.

In a garden square he finds a little girl
with yellow hair tied in a ponytail. He sniffs
and snaps, gusting and billowing her skirt,
stinging her knees as pink as her hair ribbon.
She runs, arms outstretched, laughing,
spinning like a sycamore seed until
her mother calls her home.

He roams the streets, looking
for a new playmate. He shakes the trees,
but the sparrows simply fluff
and huddle closer.

The windwolf whistles
to keep his spirits up.

In a courtyard he sees a plastic carrier.
He plays at toss-and-chase until it’s torn
to shreds. Trapped, now, he hurls himself
against the walls as if he would buffet them
to the ground.

Through a window he spies
net curtains hanging primly.
What fun it would be to knot
and tangle them, snag lace butterflies
on invisible claws!

A green parrot dozes
in a cage. The windwolf yearns
for company. He longs to ruffle parrot plumes
and hear it squawk. He would love to have
a green feather to play with.
Just one
          small
                green
                       feather.
  
  
The casement rattles.

  
  

Author: don't confuse the narrator

Exploring the boundary between writer and narrator through first person poetry, prose and opinion

2 thoughts on “things with wings”

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